


but with all my education, i can't seem to command it

by littlelamplight



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Broomhead's an abusive bitch guys, F/F, Hecate and Mildred and Pippa brotp, Mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-04-27 19:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelamplight/pseuds/littlelamplight
Summary: Pippa has always been braver than her, so when she reaches out with a request to teach modern magic with her assistance in an attempt to smooth things over between them, Hecate isn’t really surprised.Coming face to face with her old mentor is another thing entirely.





	1. Chapter 1

Hecate starts the day thinking of Pippa.

It's not her fault, she reasons. The day dawned pink and bright, and even now, the clouds settled low in the sky are streaked with pink and gold, the sun reaching fingers of warmth over the sky to dispel the cold night. There is still a chill to the air, a mist laying heavy over the grounds as the castle begins to stir for the day, but the sun is warm on the back of her neck, and she’s almost grown used to how something as natural as a sunrise can remind her of the woman.

Thinking of Pippa doesn’t hurt like it used to, not anymore. It still brings with it a whole lot of complicated feelings that she often tries to push down for the sake of her sanity, but it’s been easier since their reunion, better, it fills her with a sense of… well, she doesn’t really have a word for it.

Peace, might be the closest term she can come up with. Having Pippa back in her life, being able to think of her without being overwhelmed by pain and regret, speaking to her frequently via mirror, fills her with a sense of serenity that calms the ever present tension locked in her shoulder blades.

It’s the presence of the warm sun spilling through the castle windows that makes her decide to walk to the staff room that morning, rather than transfer as usual. As a consequence, she arrives a little later than her usual punctual appearance, but she can’t bring herself to mind, even when Dimity waylays her outside the door to tell her that Ada has requested her presence in her office. It’s early enough that the meeting shouldn’t stop her from having breakfast, it’s a lovely day, and she has Pippa on her mind.

She certainly expected her to stay there, rather than to be there in Ada’s office when she arrives.

The sight of Pippa sitting there startles her, and she pauses, suspended between striding forward like she’d been intending to when she landed from the transfer, and just staring at her. It’s not her imagination, no, Pippa is definitely sitting across from Ada’s empty seat, pink and bright and completely at ease, munching on a half eaten plate of biscuits. There are two cups of tea on the desk, one empty, and Pippa dunks her biscuit in the other before she nibbles on it. So Ada was here, but is apparently absent, and Hecate feels a little thrown by the realisation that Pippa must’ve been here, in her school, for quite a while, without her knowledge.

‘Pippa?’

Pippa looks up, a wide smile curving her lips, and she seems apparently unbothered by her sudden appearance. Hecate wonders if she’d sensed her standing there, like she used to so easily when they were younger, and simply decided to wait. ‘Hecate!’

She feels a little caught off guard by Pippa’s sudden appearance in her school, and so she touches the back of her hand to her forehead, bows her head slightly, and murmurs, ‘well met’, in order to give herself a moment to gather herself.

Pippa returns the gesture, her smile still bright and blinding, and says, ‘well met, Hiccup. How are you?’

‘I’m… well’, she says, glancing around the office as if that can somehow give her a clue to what Pippa is doing here. ‘I… what are you doing here?’

She winces at the bluntness of her words, aware that it could sound like she wishes Pippa weren’t here, which is the furthest thing from the truth. But Pippa only smiles, like she isn’t offended, and says, ‘I would’ve mirrored you ahead, but it was early when Ada asked me to come and I know that you like your sleep ins’.

The corner of Hecate’s mouth twitches, and she feels herself relax slightly. ‘How thoughtful of you’. She takes step forward, hesitating slightly, caught between wanting to know why Pippa is here, and simply being glad of the fact. But the back of her neck is still warm from the sun, and so she lets out a slow sigh, and murmurs, ‘it is… good to see you, Pipsqueak’.

Pippa’s smile widens, and she steps closer to brush her hand over her elbow. There are crumbs on her chin. ‘And you, Hecate. It’s so wonderful to see you again’.

Hecate feels her cheeks heat a little, and coughs quietly to cover her embarrassment. ‘You saw me two days ago’.

‘Seeing you through a mirror isn’t the same’. Pippa squeezes her arm before she links her hands in front of her. ‘Though I suppose you would like to know why I’m here?’

Hecate nods. She hesitates, before lifting a hand to point awkwardly. ‘You have something on your face’.

Pippa wipes the back of her hand over her mouth, the corner of her lip quirked slightly. ‘Ada does have a lovely selection of biscuits. Though some donuts wouldn’t go amiss’.

Hecate chuckles, shaking her head slightly. ‘I take it Ada didn’t call you over to share biscuits with you’.

Pippa shakes her head. Her smile fades a little, and she moves to sit in one of the chairs by the fire. The guest chair, Hecate notes, and she wonders why Pippa looks so serious all of a sudden. ‘You won’t sit, I take it?’

Hecate shakes her head slightly, moving to stand beside the fireplace instead. ‘No, thank you. It… is something wrong? Has something happened?’

‘No!’ Pippa sounds sincere, but there is an edge of nerves to her voice that Hecate doesn’t quite understand. ‘No, nothing like that. I… Ada invited me around to suggest something. I… I just wanted to run it by you, first, before I accept’.

Hecate can feel the muscles in her back tensing, though she can’t quite name why she feels a sense of looming dread at Pippa’s words. Perhaps it’s the way Pippa shifts, twisting her hands together anxiously, avoiding her eyes determinedly. ‘What is it?’

‘I didn’t suggest it’, Pippa says, an edge of urgency to her voice, ‘but… Ada has invited me to teach some… modern witching workshops again’.

Hecate manages not to react, not with the same out right disapproval that she did last time, trying to keep her mind off last time, and everything she said. ‘Oh’.

‘Considering that I… well, that I helped Mildred save her job, she… I believe she thinks she should give my methods another shot’. Pippa takes a deep breath, smoothes out nonexistent wrinkles in her dress, and says, ‘she said that she did recognise the benefits to some students, and that if… if I had more time to conduct my workshops, perhaps it would go more smoothly’.

‘Ada suggested a modern witching workshop?’ Hecate almost winces at the open surprise in her voice, but she can’t take it back.

She almost wishes she can when Pippa stiffens a little, her fingers whitening where they clutch at each other. ‘We live in a modern world, Hecate. Believe it or not, I do understand the importance of tradition. But I -’ she cuts herself off, closing her eyes like she’s frustrated with herself, and Hecate can’t help but feel responsible for how uncomfortable her friend seems. She’s never hidden her distaste of modern magic, but seeing Pippa’s discomfort, she almost wishes she had. ‘Unlike last time, I will be doing nothing more than teaching the workshops, which means I’ll be able to keep an eye on all the students, and be more… aware, than last time’.

Hecate remains silent, unsure what to say, struggling with the sudden knowledge that she’s hurt Pippa in her distaste, in her clear disapproval, trying not to wince at the memory of how openly critical she was last time.

It didn’t use to be like this.

Pippa sighs heavily, and says, ‘I told Miss Cackle that I would only do the workshops if you did them with me’.

Hecate stares at her. ‘But I know nothing about modern witchcraft’.

Pippa’s mouth quirks, but it looks more like a grimace than a smile. ‘I know. You can barely stand the concept’.

Something aches in her chest, and Hecate clenches her hands by her sides to resist the sudden desire to reach for her. ‘Pippa -’

‘But that’s rather the point. You’re the witchest witch I know, and maybe… if we worked together…’ Pippa sighs again, and her shoulders seem to slump. ‘I know you think that what I do is frivolous, Hecate, and I’m sure it is compared to the things you can do, but if you work with me… maybe I’ll be able to show you that it’s not all like that’.

‘Pippa -’

‘I don’t expect to completely change your mind’, Pippa barrels on like she’s afraid of pausing to hear her answer, which is probably exactly how she feels, ‘and I wouldn’t ever want to change you. But your opinion has always mattered to me above anyone elses, and I miss -’

Hecate jerks forward to grasp Pippa’s hands, and says, ‘I’ll do it’.

Pippa looks up at her quickly, surprise written all over her face, and whispers, ‘you will? I… are you sure, you don’t have to -’

‘I want to’. It’s not until she says it that she realises that she really does, that she wants to understand what drew Pippa to modern witchcraft, that she wants to understand what she sees in it, and it leaves her a little breathless. ‘It’s important to you, Pippa. And I… I have not been a very good friend about it’.

Pippa turns her hands over, clutches at Hecate’s fingers almost desperately, and Hecate tries not to think about how warm and soft her hands are. ‘Hecate, I know what tradition means to you. I would never want to… convert you to the modern ways’. Her mouth twitches, almost as if the very idea is laughable to her. ‘I just… I want you to see that I’m more than just a silly witch who loves pink a little too much’.

Dismay swells in Hecate’s chest like a great wave, and she squeezes Pippa’s hands as tightly as she dares. ‘Pippa… I know you’re not just a silly witch. You’re not frivolous’.

Pippa glances down, pats the back of her hand, and says, ‘you don’t have to -’

‘I mean it, Pippa. You’ve never been silly or frivolous. You were always incredibly intelligent and talented when we were at school, and from what I’ve seen that hasn’t changed’. There is an edge of conviction to her voice she usually holds back, emotion she tries to hide, because she can’t have Pippa believing that she thinks so badly of her. ‘Last time you were here you changed the weather and reversed the storm’s effects with barely any effort’.

Pippa waves her hand dismissively, but there is a soft smile playing about her mouth. ‘Hardly a difficult feat’. She looks up at her, her lips curving in that bright smile that Hecate’s heart has never stood any chance against. ‘But I see what you’re trying to say. Thank you, Hiccup’.

Hecate feels her neck flush at the sound of her old nickname, the tightness around her chest loosening a little as Pippa smoothes her thumb over the back of her hand, and the corner of her mouth quirks up. Her heart feels lighter than it has since Ada was removed as headmistress, and she says slowly, ‘I hope… I hope we will make a good team, Pipsqueak’.

Pippa’s eyes light up, and Hecate’s heart slams up into her throat when the woman leans forward to kiss her cheek, and whispers, ‘I’m sure we will’.

Hecate doesn’t hope. She hasn’t let herself feel the emotion since she shut Pippa out of her life and turned her back on the person she wasn’t supposed to love, since she cut off that stubborn part of her that thought that maybe…

She doesn’t hope. Things will come to pass, and if she has an investment in it she’ll do what she must to make sure it happens in a way that benefits her. Hope is an emotion that distracts, and a distracted witch is a danger to herself and everyone around her.

But with Pippa’s cheek soft against her own, with their fingers tangled together and her senses flooded with the gentle scent of her perfume, with the promise of being able to work with her, by her side again after so long, Hecate can feel that stubborn part of her lifting its head again.

She hopes.

 

* * *

 

 

Ada smiles at them over her paper when they transfer into the staff room, that knowing, smug smile that has Hecate pursing her lips and huffing slightly. She moves to make herself tea, watching Pippa greet her colleagues out of the corner of her eye, listening to her laugh delightedly at something Gwen says, and tries not to stare. Last time Pippa was here, she was too wound up, too… too many things, to let herself enjoy her company. It’s a little strange to see her here, mingling with the staff, watching her being welcomed, but she’s glad, considering the reception they gave her last time.

She makes Pippa a cup of tea without really thinking about it, and Pippa sinks into a chair beside her with a small, grateful smile that somehow feels private, even though they have company. ‘Thank you, Hecate’.

Hecate coughs slightly, lifting her own tea to take a sip simply for something to do, watching the way Pippa beams when she takes a sip. ‘Three sugars’, she murmurs, ‘you remembered!’

Hecate opens her mouth to make a comment about how sweet Pippa takes of tea, something so ridiculous that she’d never forget it, when Dimity appears beside her with a faint sound like a whistle being blown. Hecate jumps a little, startled by the sound more than the appearance, and glowers. ‘Must you announce yourself like that?’

It takes her a moment to process that Dimity looks rather frazzled. ‘Sorry, HB. It wasn’t intentional’. She turns to Ada, and says urgently, ‘we’ve got a situation, Ada’.

Ada looks up at her, folding her hands over her newspaper in her lap, her eyebrows raised in concern. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s an inspector here. From the Council?’ Dimity phrases it as a question, as if wondering whether Ada knew about it, but Ada is just staring at her. ‘She said it’s a surprise inspection’.

Ada gapes. ‘What?’

Pippa makes a surprised sound, sitting up straighter and placing her cup down on the table, and the movement seems to finally kick Hecate’s brain into motion, finally seems to catch her up to the fact that the peaceful morning has come to an end. ‘A surprise inspection? That’s highly unusual. Did they provide any proof?’

Dimity hands a sealed letter to Ada, her brow furrowed tightly as their headmistress hastens to open it. ‘Apparently the Council felt that an impromptu inspection would give a clearer picture of what life is really like here’.

Pippa frowns. ‘So they want to catch you off guard, then’. She makes a sharp sound of dislike. ‘They did the same not long after I first opened Pentangles’.

Ada’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. ‘An _extended_ inspection?’

Hecate’s fingers tighten on her cup, and the tea ripples. ‘What does it say, Ada?’

Ada swallows, and leans forward to read from the letter, her voice quiet but steady. “Due to the frequency of the incidents at Cackle’s Academy, the Council has seen fit to send an inspector for the duration of a week -”

‘A week?!’

“- in order to divine whether the academy is both safe and equipped to handle the disasters we hear about so frequently”. Ada’s face falls, and she sighs. ‘I’d really hoped that we’d be done with this, after Ursula’.

‘Actually, the timing does make sense’.

Hecate jerks to stare at Pippa, and steam rises from her tea. ‘What?’

Pippa shoots her a small, apologetic smile, before she says, ‘I just mean that… well. This is the Great Wizard we’re talking about’. She glances at Ada, and shifts forward on her chair. ‘You forced him to go back on his decision to remove you from your place as headmistress, and showed that he was… a little blind, shall we say, to the inner workings of his own Council. He probably sees it as an insult’.

Algernon huffs, and mutters, ‘he would, the turnip’.

Pippa smiles, but there is an air of seriousness about her that Hecate rarely saw when they were young. ‘After what happened with the Founding Stone, and the whole school freezing, he has a perfect excuse to send someone looking for a problem’. Her brow furrows. ‘You should be careful’.

Hecate breathes out slowly, feeling a pang somewhere in her chest at the realisation that she’d assumed that Pippa was, ridiculously, approving of the decision. That she once again jumped to an unjust conclusion under stress. She takes a deep breath, making an effort to uncurl her fingers from around her tea cup, and Pippa adds, ‘and perhaps I should go’. She looks just as displeased by this news of an impromptu inspection as Hecate feels, and Hecate feels a warm rush of  affection in her chest for how much Pippa cares. 'If my presence would complicate matters?'  
  
Ada shakes her head firmly. 'No, dear. You're here to teach our girls, and so you will. I won't be cowed by the Council, no matter how many inspectors they send'.  
  
'It isn't Doomstone again, is it?' Gwen fiddles anxiously with her baton, glancing sideways at Dimity, and Hecate has distinct Impression they know something she doesn't.  
  
'No', Dimity shakes her head, avoids Hecate's quizzical look, 'I didn't recognise her. I had Ethel escort her to her rooms, but she'll be joining us shortly'.  
  
Ada sighs heavily. 'An extended inspection, really. Ridiculous'.  
  
Pippa pulls a displeased face. 'So what's her name?'  
  
'She -'  
  
The air sizzles, like heat flooding a small space, that hot smell of metal, and Hecate’s heart jolts, skips a beat and slams against her ribs in overdrive before she’s really processed that someone has just transferred into the room behind her, close to the door.

'I am sorry to keep you all waiting'.  
  
Hecate feels her tea slip from her fingers, and she doesn't notice when Pippa flicks her hand quickly to stop it from smashing against the floor. She doesn't notice anything.  
  
Her ears are ringing, and her hands feel clammy. She can't breathe.  
  
_No_.

She can’t be here. She can’t be _here_. Not here, not where she’s safe, not where she’s home, not now, not when Pippa is sitting right next to her and leaning in with concern in her eyes, but she knows that voice. She knows that magic.

She knows it, and she needs to pull herself together, because the woman is behind her, conversing with Ada who has moved from her chair, and Pippa’s hand burns when it touches her arm. ‘Hecate? Are you alright?’

Her throat works. She breathes in, a sharp sound against the ringing in her ears, and her breath sticks when she tries to breathe out. Her lungs feel frozen, and she can’t force herself to calm down.

‘Hecate?’ Pippa’s voice is low and concerned, and she’s leaning too close, a lock of her hair tickling her cheek, she’s too close, to familiar, and Hecate needs to pull away before her nightmare notices.

Pippa’s fingers curl against her thumb, and Hecate breathes out. The touch calms her, steadies her, lets her breathe, even though it shouldn’t, even though she shouldn’t let it, certainly not now, but it does.

She breathes in, and out, and stands without looking at Pippa, turns with her hands held rigidly by her sides, and says, ‘Mistress Broomhead’.

Mistress Leonora Broomhead hasn't changed much in all the years since Hecate last saw her. She still has the same strong, proud features, the same rigid, unyielding posture. Her dark hair, once streaked through with grey, is now a solid, steel silver, and where Hecate has seen age wither and weaken, Broomhead looks every inch the dignified, regal crone.

Hecate has to resist the urge to cower.

Broomhead’s eyebrows incline slightly. ‘Hecate Hardbroom. I didn't realise you were teaching at Cackle’s Academy’.

It's a lie, and it's deliberate. Broomhead keeps track of all her prodiges, keeps track of everything, for a witch must be armed with information in order to succeed. The lie, while clear, is designed to sting, and it does just that. Her shoulders stiffen slightly, her fingers twitch as she resists the urge to touch the watch hanging from her neck, _stop fiddling, girl_ , and instead, she touches the palm of her hand to her forehead. ‘Well met’.

Broomhead returns the gesture, palm out, and Hecate can feel Pippa’s eyes on her back. ‘Indeed. It's been some time’.

‘Quite’. Hecate glances sideways at Ada, and says slowly, ‘you’re inspecting us?’

‘I am. The Council wanted the opinion of a well experienced teacher’.

‘And the length of the stay?’ Pippa sounds curious rather than hostile, but the fact that she's speaking at all terrifies Hecate. ‘Surely that isn't necessary’.

Broomhead eyes slide from Hecate’s face to fix on Pippa, and Hecate has to resist the urge to shift sideways and shield her from view. Her expression doesn't change, not obviously, but Hecate recognises the tightening of displeasure around her mouth. ‘Pippa Pentangle. I certainly didn't expect to find you in a school steamed in tradition’.

Pippa laughs, that light, pleasant sound, responding the hostility with an easy smile. ‘I assure you, Mistress Broomhead, I had no intention of being present during an inspection’.

‘And what are you doing here?’

Pippa hesitates, glancing over at Ada, and in the slight pause, Hecate wonders if Pippa is trying to decide whether telling Broomhead will make things more difficult for Ada, and the school. Despite the panic squeezing at her lungs, despite how thrown she feels, she feels a warm spark of affection blossom between her ribs at the thought. Ada inclines her head slightly, and Pippa’s shoulders straighten. ‘Ada invited me to run some modern witching workshops’.

A muscle twitches beneath Broomhead’s eye, and Hecate has to curl her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. ‘I see’. She turns her head to look at Ada, and says flatly, ‘well, accounting for taste is not a category for my assessment, you’ll be pleased to know’.

Hecate practically hears Pippa bristle. ‘Excuse me?’

Broomhead’s lips thin, and Hecate’s nails slice into her palms. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, dear’.

‘Oh no, please, share what's on your mind, Mistress Broomhead’. Pippa somehow manages to sound genuinely interested despite the glint in her eyes. ‘I’ve always admired a witch with a strong opinion’.

Hecate wants to scream.

Broomhead purses her lips, and turns to face Pippa fully. She folds her hands in front of her, and smiles a small, sharp smile. ‘Well, dear, if you insist. While it is… generous of you’, her lip curls, ‘to take in so many students from… diverse backgrounds, all you’re doing is setting a bad example. The craft is in decline, and we should be focusing on essential basics like discipline, control, the routes of our power, rather than indulging in such frivolous things as modern witching’.

Hecate feels something twisting in her stomach. Something like disgust, despair, horror, because she's heard those words before, from her own mouth, and the realisation that she's become more like her old mentor than she knew makes her feel sick.

She never wanted to be like her.

Pippa’s eyebrows raise slightly, her eyes flick sideways to rest on Hecate briefly, and it feels like a punch to her gut that Pippa, too, recognises that similarity. ‘Magic is magic’, Pippa says, unwavering as ever in her beliefs despite criticism of them, ‘if the Craft is in decline, we should be nurturing it no matter who it comes from’.

Broomhead sniffs. ‘What a ridiculous idea. Magic is about blood. Tradition. It is not something for just anyone to have’.

Pippa smiles. ‘We witches have never existed to appease, Mistress Broomhead. We have always seemed ridiculous to the narrow minded’.

Gwen chokes on her tea.

Broomhead stares her. Her expression remains completely inscrutable, but feeling in the air seems to shift, tenses and twists, and Hecate can taste metal on the back of her tongue. A strangled sound works its way up her throat, and it’s all she can do not to cringe away from the woman.

She doesn’t understand how Pippa can stand so unflinchingly, how she can stand with her shoulders squared and her chin tilted up, how she can be smiling pleasantly, when Hecate can feel Broomhead’s magic pressing in on Pippa like it wants to consume her.

‘Well, I really should report my arrival to the Council. They want to be updated quite frequently’. The tension snaps like a broken band, and Hecate jerks at the suddenness of it, wincing internally at how easily she’s slipping, at the quick, puzzled glance Pippa casts her. ‘I will expect a timetable before classes start, Miss Cackle’.

Ada inclines her head slightly. ‘Of course’.

Broomhead waves her hand, and before she vanishes, her eyes flick to Hecate, bore into her with a harsh, unmistakable intensity.

She’ll see her soon.

A blink and she’s gone, and Hecate allows herself a brief moment to close her eyes, reaching for her pocket watch, trying, desperately, to calm herself down. Broomhead barely spoke to her, barely looked at her, and yet Hecate feels like she’s been stripped to the bone, and she’s not naive enough think that the apparent lack of interest means the woman is done with her.

Dimity is the first to break the silence. ‘Well… she was…’

‘Dreadful’, Pippa says, the dislike that had been so obvious to Hecate clear in her voice, ‘just as always’.

Hecate’s eyes snap open. ‘You know her?’

Pippa shrugs, her brow creasing faintly as she looks at her. ‘Not as well as you, I think. But the Council sent her to inspect my school, not long after I first established it. They wanted to close me down, you know’.

Hecate blinks. ‘They clearly didn’t succeed’.

Pippa smile is almost sly. ‘No, they didn't. I doubt that woman’s ever really forgiven me for that’.

Cold dread settles in Hecate’s stomach, and she doesn’t understand how Pippa can speak so lightly of it, as if being someone Broomhead doesn’t like doesn’t place her in terrible danger. She opens her mouth to speak, when Pippa glances over at Ada, and says slowly, ‘are you sure that… that you wouldn’t prefer it if I came another time, Ada? I don’t want to make things more difficult for you’.

Ada shakes her head. There is an odd twinkle in her eyes that Hecate can’t place, that makes her uneasy, especially when the woman smiles at Pippa, something small, and almost conspiratorial. ‘No, dear, that’s alright. I think It’ll be good to have you around. Your presence will certainly cheer the girls up, which will be what they need during an inspection’. Her smile widens. ‘Besides, it’s a rare few who can render that woman speechless, so I’m told’.

Pippa laughs, and Hecate curls her hands into fists until her nails bite into her palms.

She doesn’t understand why neither of them seem to understand the gravity of this.

This isn’t a game.

If it is, it’s one Broomhead has been playing for a long, long time.

And Hecate is living proof of what it means to lose.


	2. Chapter 2

Hecate makes it to her potions lab before her composure snaps. Her back bows, her hands finding purchase on the solid wood of her desk, and rhythm of her breathing sounds far too ragged in the silence. Her stomach heaves, and she’s momentarily glad that she didn’t have time for breakfast when she’s violently ill over the edge of her desk, her body shuddering as she tries, desperately, to calm down. 

Her nails scrape against the wood, a sharp sound that forces her to focus on her surroundings, and she leans down to press her forehead against the cool surface. It leaves her bent double, but her head stops spinning, and as she breathes, she focuses on the familiar aspects of her potions lab, the smooth wood under her hands, the faint smell of burning wood that hangs around the cauldrons, and gradually, her breathing returns to normal. 

Her hands are shaking by the time it does, and she waves her hand to clean up the signs of her sudden, unfortunate weakness. Shame curls in her stomach as she sinks into her chair, even though there was no one around to see it. 

She should be better. She’s not a child anymore, and it's ridiculous that the mere sight of Broomhead can rattle her so much. 

_ She should be better.  _

She’s not exactly surprised to realise the voice in her head belongs to the woman she hoped never to see again. 

And she’s here. Here, inspecting her school, her home, in a position to ruin everything, and Hecate presses her nails into her palms in an attempt to ground herself against the panic prickling in her throat again. 

Her maglet chimes from its place in her desk, and Hecate reaches for it simply for something to do with her shaking hands. Ada has sent through the week’s time table, with the spare periods available for Pippa to run her workshops marked out clearly, and Hecate feels her heart sink at the sight of them, and dread pools in her stomach. 

How is she supposed to help run the workshops with Pippa now, now that Broomhead is here? The very idea of associating herself with modern magic around the woman who just made her distaste so obvious has her stomach churning again. 

She can’t run them, not now, not with Broomhead here. 

But Pippa...

She promised Pippa she’d work with her. That she wanted to learn, that she wanted to understand why she loves modern magic so much. She promised that she’d be a better friend, that she’d be  _ better _ , and now… 

She’s going to disappoint her again. 

‘Clever little trick you pulled there’. 

Hecate jumps. Her maglet slips from her fingers, and sparks crackle along her hands at the sudden presence she hadn’t registered. She has to force herself to breathe out slowly in an attempt to calm herself, and her magic. 

Broomhead stands with her arms folded tightly over her chest, her shoulder propped up against the wall, and Hecate  _ hates  _ how at ease she looks. Her throat works, and finally she says, ‘what are you talking about?’

Broomhead scoffs. ‘Don’t pretend with me, girl. I know a personality changing potion when I see it’. 

Hecate stares at her. She tries to school her expression into something passive, but she’s taken aback by the fact that she genuinely has no idea what she’s talking about. Broomhead seems to interpret her confused silence as something else, because she tuts. ‘You always were lazy, but casting that on Doomstone really is a new low. Things here must be worse than Ursula Hallow described if you resorted to such lengths’. 

Hecate blinks. A very vague, hazy memory surfaces, of a woman covered in slime gasping for air, and a hand, her own, thrusting a vial towards her. She blinks rapidly, resisting the urge to shake her head, and says evenly, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’. 

Broomhead tilts her head slightly. The air thickens as her magic curls out, and Hecate goes rigid when she feels it brush against her own. ‘Interesting’, the woman says slowly, ‘either you’ve become a much more convincing liar, or you’re telling the truth’. Her brow quirks. ‘But if it wasn’t you, then there’s another fool among your colleagues. Or perhaps… among your students’. 

Hecate has a vivid image of Beatrice Bunch, of sipping from a potion that didn’t taste as it should, that she’d put down to incompetence, and inhales sharply. ‘That… is that why you’re here? Because you think that someone here deceived Doomstone?’

Broomhead tsks, a sound that scratches at Hecate’s ears, and says, ‘I  _ know _ someone did, girl. The culprit won’t be able to hide for long’. 

The taste of her magic grows bitter, and Hecate is seized by the sudden need to confess. Because she understands what Broomhead is saying, and she’s possessed by the need to shield her students, even though she has very little memory of what is being discussed. It’s possible that Beatrice had nothing to do with it, and it clashes with the memory of her own hand, and the vial that held it, but it’s possible Broomhead won’t care for such details. 

Broomhead punishes flaws wherever she sees them, little things that others would barely notice, and Hecate straightens her shoulders automatically. 

She thinks of Mildred and Sybil and all the disasters that have befallen Cackles, all the errors, all the flaws, and dread coils in her stomach. 

This is the worst place for Broomhead to be. 

The air vibrates, a soft tension like a ripple across a lake, and Pippa winks into existence opposite her desk. ‘Hecate, I - oh’. Pippa blinks, raising her eyebrows slightly, fixing Broomhead with a look that is not exactly distasteful, but hardly pleased. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were busy’. 

‘I’m not’, Hecate says, and she sounds too strained. She turns her attention to Pippa, every nerve in her body alert for what Broomhead might do next, and says, ‘what is it?’

Pippa’s brow furrows slightly, her gaze flicking between them rapidly, and she says, ‘I was just wondering if you got the schedule’. 

Hecate glances down at her maglet so that Pippa won’t see the look on her face, and waves her hand to conjure it to her grasp. But her maglet shoots along the floor and leaps up into Broomhead’s hands, and Hecate’s ribs constrict in a sudden panic that leaves her lightheaded. 

‘You’re participating in these?’ The displeasure drips from Broomhead’s voice, and Hecate’s shoulders hunch high. 

‘I…’ she’s going to have to let Pippa down, without any warning, a betrayal that she won't see coming, and she feels frozen, like the ice that crept along the castle stones has found purchase in her blood again.

‘Hecate is supervising, Mistress Broomhead’, Pippa says lightly, ‘as modern magic isn't for everyone, and it's always best to have another adult around when first introducing it to students’.

Broomhead’s gaze narrows in on her, and Hecate doesn't understand how Pippa can be so unflinching in the face of it. It leaves her a little in awe, and utterly terrified. She doesn't know what the woman will do if she realises they're friends. 

A good witch has no need for such trivial, distracting things as friendship. 

‘So you’re not actually participating in this… ridiculous waste of time?’

Hecate snaps back to herself to find Broomhead staring at her, and she swallows tightly. ‘No’, she says, and she has to dig her nails into her palms to stop her voice from shaking, ‘I’m not. I’m simply supervising’. 

She’s never lied to the woman before, but not to do so would be to condemn Pippa, and the words fall from her tongue with surprising ease, even as her heart slams against her ribs and her stomach heaves in protest. 

Broomhead stares at her, and then, to Hecate’s utter surprise, seems to take her word for it. ‘Good’, she says, her lip curled in a sneer, ‘I taught you better than to waste time on such nonsense’. She sniffs disdainfully, and says, ‘I’ll see you both there, then’. 

‘Oh, I don’t think so’. Pippa’s smile is pleasant, but her voice is strong and steady. 

Broomhead draws herself upright, and next to Pippa, she’s a giant. ‘Excuse me?’ 

Pippa folds her arms over her chest, and says evenly, ‘Mistress Broomhead, you have made your distaste for modern magic quite obvious, and I have no intention of letting that negativity into my workshops’. 

Hecate can practically feel Broomhead’s magic crackling in the air, and she cringes back behind her desk, even as part of her, small and terrified and stubborn, desperately wants to place herself between her old mentor, and her old friend. ‘You have no say in what I do, Miss Pentangle’, Broomhead says, her voice as sharp as the magic between them, ‘I’ve been granted the authority to inspect this school, and -’ 

‘And my workshops have nothing to do with this school’. Pippa raises her eyebrows slightly, a very faint challenge. ‘Cackle’s is a place of tradition and old ways. My workshops are very much unique to my school, which I’m sure you will remember. And considering that the Council saw no reason to close my school down after your inspection into my school all those years ago, I very much doubt they’ll see any need to have you sit in on my workshops’. 

Something in Broomhead’s face shifts, like something deadly moving underneath ever shifting sand, and Hecate has that impression again, of the woman’s magic curling out and pressing down on Pippa, like she can force her into submission. Pippa doesn’t blink, doesn’t move a muscle, and for a moment, Hecate wonders if she imagines the confusion that flickers briefly behind Broomhead’s eyes. 

‘Very well’, the woman says finally, her voice cool and smooth, ‘you may have your workshops, Miss Pentangle’. 

For the second time that evening, Hecate finds herself utterly taken aback by how Broomhead seems to just… give in. The foreignness of it leaves her on edge, like she’s listening to the persistent sound of nails on a chalkboard, and the muscles in her shoulders are so tight it almost pains her. 

‘Thank you’. Pippa bows her head slightly, as if the fact that she just won that argument hasn’t left Hecate reeling, and says, ‘what’s first on your agenda today?’

Broomhead laughs, and Hecate has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from reacting to the sound. ‘Now dear, it wouldn’t be a surprise inspection if there was time to prepare, would it?’

Pippa smiles pleasantly. Hecate is suddenly reminded of the girls she hated at school, the ones who were awful to her when Pippa wasn’t around, and how she always felt like Pippa liked them because she was nice to them. That she thought Pippa valued them as friends. 

And yet she knows, in this moment, that Pippa cannot stand Broomhead, knows that her pleasant smile is just a mask, and realises that maybe the signs that Pippa never liked those other witches were always there.

The sharp, crackling feel of Broomhead’s magic brushes past her arm as the woman sends her maglet back to her desk, and she’s too late to disguise the way she flinches away from it. She looks up to meet Broomhead’s gaze, and she trembles beneath it. ‘We’ll speak later then, Hecate’.

Hecate has to swallow several times before she's able to speak. ‘Of course’.

‘We have much to catch up on’.

The woman speaks flatly, evenly, but Hecate feels the threat as if she's slapped her in the face. All she can do is bow her head, holding her breath for a few beats, before the tension in the room vanishes, and she lets out a shuddering breath. 

Hecate might not have noticed the woman appear in the room, but she knows, from the absence of her suffocating magic, that she’s gone now. She has the strangest urge to laugh, remembering how Broomhead caught her off guard. She’d forgotten that she learned that technique of appearing silently behind her students from her old mentor. 

There was so much about her time with the woman that she was happy to forget. 

‘Hecate?’

Hecate doesn’t know if she can look at Pippa. She doesn’t feel in control of herself, and everything feels like its moving too fast, like she’s dismounted from her broom after a swift flight to find that her body still feels like its moving. She’s afraid that if she looks at Pippa, she’ll reveal too much, and so she turns to pick up her maglet, and says quietly, ‘do you really think provoking her will do any good?’

Pippa sighs, and Hecate tries not to visibly tense when the woman steps closer. ‘I wasn’t trying to, I just -’ 

‘Really?’ She can’t help the bite to her voice, and she knows she probably sounds harsh. But she can’t help it. ‘It sounded like it’. 

There is a pause, and then Pippa says slowly, ‘I’m sorry. I just… I remember what it was like, when she came to inspect Pentangles, and -’ 

‘You don’t know her, Pippa’. Hecate’s jaw works, and she has to swallow several times before she’s able to speak. ‘You don’t know her at all’. 

‘But you do’. 

Hecate glances up at Pippa, startled by the odd note in her voice. It’s soft, and strangely tight, and the corners of her eyes are creased, like she’s concerned, like she’s worried. Hecate doesn’t understand it at all. ‘Yes’, she says slowly, ‘she was my tutor at Witch Training College’. She watches Pippa frown, and adds, ‘she… taught me everything I know’.

Pippa snorts, and Hecate flinches slightly. Pippa’s frown deepens, and she reaches out for her quickly, only to stop and let her hand fall to her side. ‘I meant no offence, Hecate. It's just… that's hardly accurate, and a huge disservice to yourself. You taught yourself how to transfer before our fourth year was over. By the time you were in college, I doubt there was very little anyone could teach you that you didn't already know’.

Hecate blinks, caught off guard both by the words and the vehenement way Pippa says them. She looks down, and notices that Pippa’s fingers are curled into fists, like she’s physically restraining herself from reaching out. For a wild moment, Hecate wants to risk it, wants to reach out and cling to Pippa’s hand, wants to seek comfort from the one person who used to give it to her so freely. But the moment passes, as well it should, because she can’t give in to such weakness now. Not when Pippa’s friendship with her could put her in danger. 

Hecate doesn’t know what Broomhead would try and do, if she knew Pippa was her friend,  _ that _ friend, the one she held deeper feelings for. She doesn’t know what the woman would do if she guessed that she still held them. 

Pippa might be a powerful witch, but Broomhead is… 

She’s a nightmare made flesh. 

‘Why did you lie to her?’ 

Pippa looks slightly startled by the change in subject, and she slowly uncurls her hands, linking them together in front of her instead. ‘You seemed… uncomfortable, to say the least, and… you looked trapped’. She shrugs. ‘It just seemed like the right thing to do, to try and make things easier for you’. 

Hecate opens her mouth, struck once again by how much Pippa  _ cares _ , and looks away from her. ‘Thank you. It… it would’ve -’ 

‘You don’t have to explain it to me, Hecate’. Pippa’s voice is soft, soothing away the burn of Broomhead’s presence, and Hecate swallows tightly. ‘I… that woman, she…’ her jaw works, and she seems to be choosing her words carefully. ‘I can see that she’s…’ she makes a sound of frustration, and then steps closer to lay her hand on her shoulder. Hecate can feel the touch through her dress like the warmth of the sun against her cheek. ‘If you want to talk about her, and what she… I’m here. That’s all I mean. But I won’t pressure you’. 

Hecate’s jaw clenches, and she grips the edge of her desk tightly. She doesn’t know what to  _ do _ , because Pippa is being so kind, so understanding, and her presence is such a balm, but she can’t tell her. She  _ can’t _ . 

‘I… I have a class to prepare for, Pippa’. 

She wishes she could pull herself together enough to snap, to make it sound like a rebuff, but she’s too raw, too  _ weak _ , and it comes out almost as a shaky plea. 

Pippa gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and drops her hand. ‘Of course. I… I should go prepare for my workshops anyway’. 

Hecate nods without looking at her. Pippa seems to hesitate a moment longer, but then she’s gone, leaving the cold, empty classroom in her wake. 

Hecate closes her eyes, and presses her hands against her face. 

She doesn’t know what to do. 

* * *

She’s nearing the end of her first class when she realises Broomhead is in the room.

She’s leaning over Mildred’s shoulder to peer into her cauldron, a criticism of the colour on her tongue, when she registers the shift of energy in the room. She goes very still, looming over Mildred with her jaw set, and she has no idea how long Broomhead has been there. 

The woman seems determined to terrorise her on her very first day. They might have had a mere handful of minutes alone, but she's had barely a break from the woman's suffocating presence, and it's already wearing down on her. How is she supposed to survive a week of this? 

‘Miss Hardbroom?’

Hecate jolts, looks down into Mildred’s hesitant face, and snaps, ‘did you read the instructions, Mildred? It says  _ pale  _ blue, and that is distinctively not’.

Mildred nods, oddly unphased by her sharp criticism, and gathers a small handful of bees wings into her hand. ‘I just haven't added these yet, Miss Hardbroom’.

‘Why?’ Her voice is clipped, and she's simultaneously trying to work out where in the room Broomhead is standing while keeping her expression appropriately critical. ‘Everyone else has completed that step’.

Mildred swallows. She glances about the room, her gaze sweeping from the end of the benches over Hecate’s desk to settle near the last shelf of ingredients, and there is something odd in her expression. ‘I… nothing, Miss Hardbroom. I’m just… just slow today’.

Hecate makes a sharp noise, and says, ‘leave it. You’ve run out of time’. 

‘But Miss Hardbroom -’ 

Hecate flicks her fingers, vanishing from beside Mildred to reappear beside her own desk. It’s unnecessary, but it means she doesn’t have to walk across the room and potentially bump into her old mentor. She rests the tips of her fingers against the old wood, and says, ‘leave your potions where they are, girls. Finished’, she glances at Mildred, ‘or not. I’ll mark them later. Dismissed’. 

Ethel pipes up, just as Hecate expected. ‘But Miss Hardbroom, we still have -’ 

‘I said dismissed, Ethel. I expect you all to use the time effectively’. 

The girls file out quickly, as if they expect her to go back on her word, and Mildred is the last to go, chewing on her lower lip and tugging on her plaits. Hecate flicks her fingers to shut the door after them, and folds her arms over her chest, gripping her upper arms for security. 

‘Do you always dismiss your classes early?’

Hecate breathes out slowly, and says, ‘no. Do you always conduct your inspections in the shadows?’

Broomhead tuts. ‘I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice. Far too long, is the conclusion’.

Hecate turns her head to find Broomhead standing by the first ingredients shelf. She grips her arms tighter, and says slowly, ‘so are you here to inspect? Or to test me?’

Broomhead’s lips curl, and Hecate feels a chill crawl up her spine. ‘Two things can be true, girl’.

The door swings open, and a terribly familiar voice says,‘Miss Hardbroom?’

Hecate turns her head quickly, and there's an odd tightening in her chest at the sight of Mildred standing in the doorway. ‘What?’

Mildred blinks, staring at Broomhead with that same startled expression she wears whenever Hecate herself takes the girl by surprise. ‘I… umm… well I know you dismissed us, but I've got some time before charms, and… and if it wasn't… too much to ask, I was hoping I could finish my potion’.

Broomhead makes a sharp, disapproving noise, and says, ‘you had plenty of time to finish it in class, girl’.

Mildred looks down, but her jaw juts, a stubborn expression Hecate has seen from her before, the presence of which in this context absolutely baffles her. Mildred’s hands clench, and she looks up at Hecate again. ‘I know I was doing everything right, and if you let me I can show you I've been -’

‘I don't have time for indulgences, Mildred’.

Her voice is sharper than she intended, a side effect of how tightly wound she is, and she instantly regrets it when Broomhead almost seems to smile. But then the faint flicker fades, and Broomhead says slowly, ‘Mildred Hubble?’ 

Hecate almost flinches at the tone of her voice, even though it isn't focused on her, and the urge to step in front of Mildred is almost overwhelming. 

Mildred nods. ‘Yes’. 

Broomhead’s eyes narrow. ‘You never told me the worst witch in this school was  _ your _ student, Hecate’. She looks up at her, her lip curling in distaste, and says, ‘and she hasn’t improved at all? How disappointing’. 

Hecate swallows tightly, her throat working, and her fingers flex by her sides. She opens her mouth, and Mildred says suddenly, ‘Miss Hardbroom’s a very good teacher, Mistress Broomhead’. 

Hecate experiences a sharp jolt of horror, and says sharply, ‘Mildred -’ 

‘You were unable to complete a basic potion despite having plenty of time to do so’. Broomhead is too focused on Mildred now, the constant hum of energy around her body hyper focused on the girl who represents everything the woman hates. ‘As your teacher, that reflects badly on her’. 

Mildred’s eyes narrow slightly, and her fists clench. ‘Then let me finish it’. Her eyes flick briefly to Hecate, and Hecate wonders if her alarm is obvious to the girl. ‘If I can, then she’s got to be a good teacher, because she's taught me something, and I'm useless’.

There is something oddly familiar about her reasoning, and for a wild moment, Hecate is reminded of Pippa, and how easily she was able to talk them out of trouble whenever they were caught in places they shouldn't have been. 

Broomhead raises her eyebrows, and scoffs, ‘if anything, you’re likely to make it worse, from what I've heard’. She steps aside, and sweeps her hand out. Mildred glances at Hecate quickly, and for the first time, Hecate thinks she sees uncertainty flicker in the girl's eyes. 

Mildred has seemed nothing but determinedly stubborn since she set foot in the classroom, but now she almost seems hesitant. Hecate reaches up to curl her fingers around her pocket watch, and inclines her head slightly towards the cauldron she hasn’t yet emptied. Mildred hurries over quickly, opening her text book on the bench and giving it a quick scan before she jumps up again to collect the ingredients she needs. 

She still moves with that frantic haste that makes Hecate want to tell her not to run in her lab, but instead she just tightens her fingers around her watch, and tries not to tense when Broomhead steps up beside her. 

‘For everything I’ve heard about her’, Broomhead says lowly, and there is something in her voice that Hecate can’t quite place, ‘no one’s ever mentioned that that girl has so much power’. 

Hecate stiffens, her knuckles whitening on her watch, and she says, ‘didn’t you agree -’ 

‘Oh, she has absolutely no control, and has no right to that power, but there  _ is _ power’. Broomhead’s eyes are gleaming oddly, and with a jolt, Hecate recognises the odd note to her voice. She heard it so often under her tutelage, when the woman spoke of Hecate’s power. In the early days, Hecate used to think it was something like admiration. 

Now, she recognises it as hunger. 

Her spine straightens, and she says sharply, ‘what makes you think Mildred -’ 

‘She was distracted, during class. From the moment I entered the room, she became distracted’. Broomhead gives her one of those sharp, disappointed looks, those things that fall like cracks against her back, and tuts, ‘she noticed before you did. She just didn’t know what she was sensing’. 

Hecate thinks of how she berated Mildred for her lack of concentration, for being slow because she was distracted, and feels her stomach twist in knots. She glances over at the girl, her head bent to stir her cauldron, and says, ‘if that’s so, then she’ll be given the guidance she needs, and she’ll learn how to control it’. 

Broomhead scoffs. ‘And who is going to teach her? You?’ The sneer in her voice is clear, and she shakes her head. ‘She’d need someone like me’. 

Hecate experiences a sharp flash in her gut, something hot and powerful and  _ angry _ , and she snaps, ‘no’. 

Broomhead’s gaze zeroes in on her, and her eyes narrow. ‘Excuse me?’

‘No’, her heart is pounding, and for a moment she forgets her fear in the face of what the woman is implying, ‘Mildred is not your student’. 

‘No’, Broomhead sneers, ‘she’s yours. And it shows’. She shakes her head, and says slowly, ‘I have to admit, I was surprised to learn you’d taken up a teaching position. You did have potential, however much you always failed to live up to it, but teaching?’ She scoffs. ‘You’re just continuing to waste it’. 

Hecate has never understood the way Broomhead seems to look down on teaching as a career for powerful witches. She often went into tangents about it, fluctuating between criticising the standards of teachers and the waste of those she did approve of, and Hecate learned early not to ask why the woman herself went into it. 

She suspects she knows the answer, anyway. 

It’s there in the hungry way Broomhead looks at those whose power she senses. 

Hecate feels her body shift, almost of its own accord, until she’s standing between Broomhead and Mildred. The woman is still tall enough to see straight over her head, but she lifts her chin and thinks of how, underneath everything that is so  _ frustrating _ about her, Mildred is good and kind, how she brought Pippa back into her life, and says, ‘yes, she’s mine. And as long as she is, you will  _ never _ teach her’. 

Broomhead’s eyes flash, her magic crackling like acid between them, singing her skin, and she sneers, ‘not yet’. 

‘Miss Hardbroom?’

Hecate breathes in sharply, and says, ‘what is it, Mildred?’

‘I finished’. 

Hecate turns her head, startled to find that Mildred is standing right beside her, holding a small vial in her hand. Hecate exhales, uncurling her hands to reach for it, but Broomhead summons it to her hand with a flick of her fingers. She looks down her nose at it, lifts it to sniff it, and takes a sip before Hecate can think to interject. 

Broomhead lowers the vial, and breathes in deeply. Her pupils dilate to thin and narrow verticals slits, and she breathes a plume of dark smoke out her nose. Her eyebrows incline slightly, and she tilts her head up, and exhales a bright orange flame that licks around her lips. Hecate can feel the heat of it from where she's standing. She blinks, and there's a hiss to her voice when she says, ‘a very potent brew of Dragon’s Breath. Who would've thought’.

Mildred’s jaw juts again, but she says nothing. Broomhead almost seems to smile. ‘Perhaps there's more to you than others give you credit for, Mildred’. She reaches out, her hand stretching like a claw towards Mildred’s shoulder, a gesture of control and dominance that Hecate knows all too well, but the contact never comes.

Instead, Broomhead’s fingers brush over the girl’s shoulder, and there is a spark, bright and white hot, a sharp, acrid taste of metal, and Mildred jerks away as Broomhead snatches her hand back.

For a moment, Hecate thinks the woman looks almost surprised.

Mildred’s eyes are wide, and there is a singed point on her shoulder, the fabric smoking slightly. Hecate waves her hand to open the door, and manages to keep her voice relatively steady when she says, ‘off you go, Mildred. Charms, isn't it?’

Mildred practically sprints from the room, her bag bouncing on her hip, and Hecate feels like she can breathe a little easier with her safely out of Broomhead’s reach. At least for now. 

Broomhead stares after Mildred, curling her hand slowly into a fist, before she opens it again, a repeating motion that makes Hecate wonder if the spark hurt her. 

She hopes it did. 

‘Leave Mildred alone’, she says quietly, not as strong or as sure as before, but her voice remains steady, ‘she’s not -’ 

‘You?’ Broomhead turns towards her with that cold twist of her lips, too knowing and too sharp to be considered a real smile. ‘On the contrary, she’s remarkably like you, girl’. 

‘I -’ 

‘I have a school to inspect’, Broomhead says, turning away from her with an abruptness that leaves Hecate realing. ‘Try not to become too involved in that workshop, won’t you? I’d hate to think you’ve let yourself become weak’. 

And then she’s gone. 

She’s gone, and Hecate reaches for the edge of her desk as she sags, the breath rushing out of her all at once. She presses a hand to her forehead, her fingers trembling again, and no matter how hard she tries, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s only made things worse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is so late life got hectic but im back and thank you so much for all ur reviews they're so encouraging! im really glad you all seem to like what im doing with this so far - i know its a bit slow going but i want to try and get something like this (hecate dealing with a past abuser etc) as right as i can. 
> 
> i will respond to all ur reviews as soon as i can. hope you enjoy!!!

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been wanting to write this for a while and figured the best idea was to just start posting cause it'll force me to keep writing im a mess anyway i hope you all like this cause i wanna do a good job! 
> 
> a couple of small things - the change to broomhead's first name is deliberate because i didn't really want her to have the same name as hecate. i'll refer to her as broomhead throughout the fic though so that it doesn't get annoying for people who are accustomed to her name for the original. also having hecate greet broomhead palm in, like the kids, was deliberate. 
> 
> anyway i hope you all enjoyed!


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